The Collective (11 page)

Xonox spoke aloud. “Mordal, House of Saran.”

Xonox leaned back in the chair and straightened himself
toward the middle screen. He had an inkling about the call but would not give
away his thoughts.  The Collective held their weekly meetings to discuss
strategy, production and all inter-House problems between them. This meeting
had been called by Yual Mordal the head of the first House of Saran. All was
not well among the Houses. The masses were in constant rebellion, especially
against the lower four Houses. Water was being hijacked, guards killed and the
people prayed for the great tower homes to come crashing down. Normally such
things did not affect the House of Vancrew directly, but he knew that if Houses
six through eight did not hold, it would be a matter of time before all the
Houses started to crack, crumble and fall like so many dominoes. Some of the
lesser regales suggested more compensation to the poor and downtrodden. This
compromise was not the answer. The Collective had risen to an elite level and
Xonox was not going to relinquish his control so easily. Neither would Mordal
or Croman. They agreed harsher restrictions were needed and every act against
the Collective would be punished with death. Public execution was the only way
to tear the fight out of people’s hearts. What amazed him the most was the
resistance of these savages beyond the city walls. Many were half-starved, deprived
of decent water or living conditions but they persisted. Some force propelled
them to live and ultimately question their fate. Xonox had proposed a long time
ago to round up those not under his immediate domain and dispose of them. In
the early days of the Collective he eliminated any who stood against him. He
would wipe out detractors all-round the city until there was nothing left if he
could. Xonox envisioned a Godly utopia, a clean, efficient city with only the
morally high-class at its pinnacle. Mordal and Croman agreed with his plans,
unfortunately it was put to a vote and the remaining five voted against it.
They argued the vagrants were needed for labor, hunting and other menial tasks.
Now these beasts of burden were the obstacle to the Collective’s glory. The
lower houses were almost pleading for help to keep the masses at bay.  Each
House had its unique proficiency, otherwise Xonox would let the weaker Houses
fall and reunite under one strong leader. Initially the Collective was broken
down into eight Houses by territory. Families took over the areas where they
could harness power and thrive. Were eight Houses still needed? Xonox wondered.
Were three? Xonox’s thoughts were interrupted by the screens transitioning from
blue to the vivid faces of the Collective and the voice of Yual Mordal.

“Let’s bring this meeting to an open.”

CHAPTER 11

THE FIRST OF
FIRSTS

Yual Mordal, The First of Firsts as he was widely known,
imposingly covered the center screen. Two guards were at his back with a red
‘Y’ over an ‘M’ emblazoned on their chest. The emblem abstractly resembled a
wine glass sitting on an inverted three legged table, a symbol of Mordal’s
refined culture. His face was etched with lines of wisdom, while his brow and
beard were jet black with the hair on his chin coming to a sharp point. Mordal
wore a matte solid white silk shirt with a red robe trimmed at the vest and
sleeve with gold. Covering his balding head was a headdress garment of the same
material, with the gold band running across his forehead.  He wore the garment
as a crown. It was his right as the most powerful man among powerful men.  His
regal appearance was a stark contrast to his abrasive demeanor.  Mordal
embodied ruthlessness. If he ever had feelings for anyone, it was never shown.
His eyes were black, dark orbs of petrified coldness, devoid of any emotion or
compassion and that is how he led the Collective.  Every move was calculated to
his advantage to inspire fear. Mordal’s home was almost two times higher than
Xonox’s residence and was filled with his large family. Mordal was known for
taking a new wife every few years, while still married to the old ones. He was
on his tenth wife and expecting his thirty-sixth child. His motto was, ‘Power
is in the strength of one’s family’. And he had family in abundance. The wives
were each given a floor with their children and Mordal groomed each child in
leadership, combat and his brand of honor. He often traveled with his two sons
Yuon and Yued, respected as two of the best hand-to-hand combatants in the
area. His daughter, Yonice, ran his day-to-day affairs including the water
distribution and production. The wives wanted for nothing, the first wife being
honored the same as the tenth.  Mordal had insulated himself in the center of a
family that he taught and trained. Their loyalty was unquestionable. These
layers of family kept him in power. Some in the Collective frowned upon
Mordal’s lifestyle. How was a new utopia to sprout out of the seeds of adultery
and bigamy? These terms were long forgotten in the Collective bylaws, but it
was a subtle reminder that all were fallible. 

Mordal’s marriages were not always consensual. Some women
of lesser families were just taken from their homes. Compensation was rendered
to families inside the Collective, death to those outside. Who would stop
Mordal? He took what he wanted and those who complained against him did not
complain for long. Recently Mordal had taken one of his former servants as his
eleventh wife. She worked for years within his home as his seventh wife,
Azerel’s, assistant.  When he saw her young supple figure beneath her evening
gown at one of his many parties he whispered his affections into the ear of one
of his aides. His personal guards visited her small one level home within the
walls of the city. She lived a modest life with her husband, a guard of the
Water Distribution Facility. On that night Mordal ordered for everyone in the
house to be murdered. They went to the home and took the life of her husband,
mother, uncle and sister. Unbeknown to Mordal, the husband had switched duties
with another guard. The man they killed was a friend of the family. When the
husband, Ferris, came home to an abandoned house he was stunned and confused.
Was there a robbery in his home? Where was his wife, Seria? What of the
family?  One of the locals, who watched Mordal’s guards file into the home,
informed him of the atrocity.  For most of his life Ferris had served the House
of Saran without question. Unspeakable acts were carried out in the name of
Mordal so he could preserve his life and carve out some type of existence. It
all had been taken from him in an instant. Mordal had taken enough. A few days
before his wife was to wed Mordal, Ferris stormed the house with thirty
well-armed and well-trained dictractors who shared his sentiment and sought to
end Mordal’s tyranny. The House of Saran guards were surprised; they never
expected a fellow guard to attack them so brutally. No one realized Ferris was
alive until that moment. His army cut through sixty of Mordal’s base guards
before they were halted at the twenty-fifth floor. The group had broken into
two parties to search for Seria. Ferris was aware of the layout and her
possible whereabouts from Seria’s descriptions of the House over the years. He
found her in a gallery cowering with other servants. She was not yet Mordal’s
wife and still had duties to attend. As he entered the room, he shot two
guards. Each received a bullet from the pistols in his hands. They slumped hard
to the ground. He grabbed Seria under her arm and lifted her to her feet.

‘Ferris..?” She said in shock. “What are you doing
here…He’ll kill you…”

“Only death could keep me from you.” Her husband replied
and she could see the warmth in his eyes. They quickly embraced and Ferris led
her into the hall leading towards the elevator. Halfway down the hall the
elevator door opened and Mordal’s personal guards poured out. The few fighters
with Ferris were getting mowed down. Ferris fired back dropping guards as they
advanced. His rebellion was falling around him. The situation was turning dire.
Backing towards the stairs Ferris convinced himself that he and Seria would
have a better chance fighting their way out floor by floor. He had plenty of
ammo and hoped the other group would meet up with them.  Ferris backed around a
corner and fired again. Letting go of Seria’s hand he pulled out his comm
device. He spoke into it, but the comm crackled back with static silence. The
last man on his team fell in front of him. He had to get to the stairwell.
Dropping the comm he clutched Seria’s hand as he fired at a guard catching him
in the arm. As the guard fell another took his place firing at Ferris with a
precision that made him believe they did not want to hit his wife. He looked
back at her and could see the fear in her eyes.  She held his arm with both
hands. Ferris turned towards his enemies spraying the hall and inching towards
the stairway door. Suddenly, he felt his back explode with a wave of fire. He
lurched forward, his weapon falling from his grasp and losing his hold on
Seria’s hand.  He crashed to the floor unable to move. His vision went blurry,
he could hear his wife screaming as if he were in a vacuum. Five guards were
coming from the gallery where he found Seria. They surrounded him quickly while
one of the guards pulled a delirious Seria off his back and carried her away.
The lead guard touched the communicator on his arm to call Mordal.

“The leader is down sir, but still alive.”

He could feel the footsteps of the guards from the elevator
as they moved in to encircle him. His gun was in reach, but his arms were
unresponsive. A slow grating voice came over the personal guard’s comm. “And
his group?”

“They’ve been neutralized sir.” The Captain of the guard
stated as he watched for any movement from the fallen attackers.

“Seria?” Mordal asked.

“She’s been taken back to the gallery and on to the aide’s
quarters.” The guard’s leader informed. “What should we do with the
infiltrator?”

The comm was silent for a moment and the guards looked at
one another. Whatever the order this man’s life was forfeit. “You know what to
do Captain.” Their master answered.

The Captain motioned to another guard standing in front of
Ferris. The guard kicked Ferris in the ribs to turn him over and see his face.
His pistol was aimed at Ferris’s head. Ferris choked out his last words looking
straight at the guard. “It’ll be your wife next time…”

Seria heard the single shot as she was dragged down the
hall. Her husband was truly dead.  She heard rumors of how Mordal chose his
wives. She thought they were part of lies told by people to fuel the
trepidation inspired by Mordal’s name. It was all too real for her.  She
witnessed first-hand the heinous act of the Collective. Now she knew why Ferris
never spoke of his work. She closed her eyes thinking of the way things used to
be and how her life had changed forever. A few days later she was wed to
Mordal. 

It was far from the end of Mordal or the Collective’s
problems. The small rebellion had brought challenges to his iron-fist rule. The
people no longer trembled at his name. They were more aware of the evils within
the House of Saran. Though Mordal’s army was strong and could easily dispatch
of the city inhabitants, the masses were starting to unnerve him. The uprising
was a source of embarrassment for him and the main point of why the heads were
meeting.

“As you all know a rogue guard led a band of rebels against
the House of Saran. It was crushed but not before much bloodshed. These
peasants had the audacity to invade my home. Per the Collective protocol the
men were killed as well as their families.” The room was deadly silent as
Mordal spoke. Xonox could sense the revenge taken on those involved and their
families did not satiate Mordal’s appetite for blood. This was not the time to
break the order of the Collective, which stated no one spoke until the First
was done speaking. Once Mordal concluded, the head of the second House would
speak and so forth. Mordal continued.

“In more pleasant news, I’ve recently taken a wife and she
will be a great addition to my House. Power is in the strength of one’s
family!” Mordal paused, looking straight ahead as he spoke. “Mine was not the
only recent insurrection. The House of Iossec fought a lengthy battle in the
city of Farmorh.” Mordal looked slowly at each Collective member. “These people
are not satisfied with the luxuries they are provided. They have become more
brazen with the passing time. It is imperative to rethink our previous
agreements. I propose the annihilation of all outside the city walls excluding
the gangs and mercenaries. We’ll use them to hunt down the stragglers.”  Mordal
let his point linger through the minds of the assembled. “Croman and Xonox of
the House of Janus and the House of Vancrew undoubtedly agree with me. Time is
of the essence.  We must reach an agreement before these people get out of
hand. What are your thoughts Croman?” 

Quitteri Croman wore a crown of thick white hair. His gold
cloth shimmered as it clung to his body. Known for his obsession with the sun,
his face and arms were tinged orange. He was a stocky man, those around him
joked he was out of shape. What he lacked in physical prowess he more than
compensated for with superior intellect. In fact he was considered one of the
most brilliant minds in the Collective. Where Mordal was the financial titan
and Xonox possessed extraordinary vision, Croman was the chief designer and
engineer. His skills were unparalleled.  Yet his capricious nature left him
spending unhealthy amounts of time in direct contact with the sun. The top four
levels of his home were constructed similar to a cruise liner ship deck. When
he was not tinkering with a new gadget, he spent his private time swimming and
sunbathing. His obsession was not a pastime, but more a religion. Croman
pledged himself to the only God more powerful than money, the mercurial orb in
the center of the universe. Croman revered the sun’s beauty and the capacity it
possessed for destruction. How could something that gave life, simultaneously take
it away? The contrast fascinated him. As he had mastered salt water, turning
the liquid into something consumable by humans, he longed to harness the sun’s
power. The Morphesizer was an invention collaborated on by him and his
colleagues. His next project would be his alone and would usher in the supreme
reign of the House of Janus. 

There were rumors of secret projects hidden within the
depths of Croman’s home. Small devices that shot a concentrated beam of light
capable of penetrating a three-inch thick piece of steel. Others in the
Collective speculated on the purpose of Croman’s hobbies. His creations could
be for manufacturing and production or they could be for darker reasons. No one
knew except for Croman and his highest ranking aides. Croman was an ambitious
man and would not be content with his current status. His actions had to be
monitored.

Croman nodded his head in acknowledgement of Mordal. “Yual,
I have many thoughts as well as questions and answers. In this equation these
murderous beggars are the unknown. I love solving for the unknown or in this
case x-ing out the unknown. I’m very much in favor of their termination.”

“I knew you would be.” Mordal said.

“What I do not favor is the execution of innocent men and
their families. Men who have pledged their allegiance to us. It weakens our
overall strengths and should not be allowed to persist with impunity.”  Croman
adjusted in his chair to face Xonox.  “Don’t you agree Victor?”

Xonox despised the way Croman addressed everyone by their
given name. Mordal found it amusing on the occasions when Xonox mentioned the
affront. Croman spoke as if they were boys in his classroom. His tone was
condescending and needed to be corrected. As capable as Croman was, he needed
to be taught manners and the respect afforded Xonox’s status.

His voice resounded with annoyance. “I agree Croman, as
long as the man or woman you refer to are completely innocent. In my House
ignorance and incompetence equate to death.”

“So you admit openly Victor, amongst all the Houses.  You
have no regard for the principles that established us.” Croman shouted back.