Token (Token Chronicles) (7 page)

There is an awkward silence as he continues to eye me peculiarly. “Speak,” he orders.

“I don’t understand what you are talking about, sir,” I rapidly reply.

“First, it was Trainee 53029.” I am beginning to tell that the Ambassador and his goons don’t particularly care for the names we were given at Island 2 and will always refer to us by our 5-digit identifiers. He continues, “In my 30 years as Ambassador of this Island, I have never had one of my subjects be sold before they were eligible for auction. It’s just not feasible for these people to pay so much for someone when they could easily get them for cheaper at auction. But someone made quite a substantial offer. I am a businessman; I know when to take a good deal when I hear one. So I sold her. It was only… logical.”

He stops to wipe the sweat dripping gently from his brow.

“One of my guards has informed me you two were quite close,” he says with an added emphasis. “And now, I have received two separate offers to purchase you at amounts that are way more than you are worth.”

I see he pulls out a list that contains several numbers scribbled down next to a random list of identifiers. He intensely gazes at the list with a look of bewilderment. He looks up and calmly asks, “And I want to know why?” Without giving me any time to respond, he says, “I believe you have met my friends from the Hub. Do you know who they are, what it is they do?”

Again, without any time for a response, he continues, “They are the ones who were working at Hawk Station 39. They are the Hawkers who paid your parents a measly amount of money in exchange for your pitiful life.”

My parents. I try not to give them much thought, but every now and then, when they inevitably sneak back into my mind, I feel an overwhelming sense of anger and resentment towards them. The Ambassador is trying to get a reaction out of me, but I am just barely able to constrain my emotions. Not normally one of my strong suits, but I manage just fine this time. I just stare back at him with a stone-like face.

His dark eyes continue to glare at me while he appears to be waiting for a rise out of me. His large round face cannot hide his disappointment when I thwart his plans.

“I have invited them here to give me a second opinion. I thought, maybe they could see something in you I didn’t. Something that might explain this sudden heightened interest in you, in your girlfriend.”

He leers at me and smugly says, “And they have confirmed my evaluations. They see nothing in you to make you this valuable. To make you worth the money they are offering. I, however, am nothing if not diligent. I also told them to take a look into the history on the day you were Hawked. They have graciously informed me something quite interesting happened shortly after they took you. It appears that on the same day you were shipped to our beloved Islands, three Grodarian troops were murdered right outside their station.”

He pauses to take out his old handkerchief to wipe more sweat off of his wrinkled forehead.

 “Normally, this would have warranted no such attention as many of our troops were being killed by civilians in the city at the time in order to strip them of supplies and food. After all, many were very desperate during the war. But these three men, they were not killed by civilians. It was far too clean. Their murder was done by a person of skill, experience. A professional.”

He pulls out a sheet of paper and begins to read verbatim, “Soldier Bote, Cause of Death, knife puncture to the right aorta of the heart.” I realize he is going to read me all of their autopsy reports. “Soldier Bordelon, Cause of Death, laceration to jugular artery, and Soldier Todd, Cause of Death, broken neck.”

He looks up at me as if I am supposed to know what he is talking about.

“That is unfortunate,” I say feebly. I forget about the not talking part, but he apparently did also because I am still sitting in my chair in one piece.

“Indeed,” he says. “All three deaths took place in a matter of seconds. They were done in complete silence, the security tapes were destroyed and what is even more puzzling is none of these soldiers’ comrades saw their deaths, and they were only standing two blocks away.”

He coolly continues to say, “I am not a man who believes in coincidences. The girl, now you, what happened at the station the day you were Hawked. Something does not add up, and I want to know what. I think you know more than you are letting on.”

His demeanor quickly changes from inquisitive warden to menacing maniac. He sharply slams his hand into my injured shoulder’s collarbone and begins to squeeze with an immense force. I hear a loud crack. I am writhing in severe pain. My body crumples, and I curl to the left side nurturing my injury. He grabs me by the neck and squeezes his vice grip of a hand tightly.

“Now, tell me the truth, or I will make sure you will never see that girl again. All it takes is one call, and I will end her miserable existence. Your friends, here on the Island, I will make sure their deaths are even more painfully slow. Believe me when I say that they will suffer. Now, you think long and hard before you answer me. I am not someone you want to play with, son,” he gravely threatens.

He is waiting for me to answer, but he has apparently forgotten his hand is still tightly wrapped around my throat. He lets go, and I can see his impatience is quickly growing. Out of fear for not wanting to get hit again for speaking out of turn, I wait for some sort of cue to indicate when I should begin. He waves his left hand in a circular motion letting me know it is all right to respond.

I try to talk, but nothing comes out of my throat but empty air. It feels as if my larynx has been completely crushed. I begin to slowly regain my ability to push out words, but only at a substantially diminished volume.

“Sir,” I barely force out, “I don’t have any idea. I don’t know what is going on. It’s easy for me to understand why someone would want Hadley as a Token so badly.” I begin to cough harshly. “If you knew her, you could easily see why. If I had anything, I would give it all away if it meant I could just see her again, spend one more day with her. But I honestly don’t know why anyone would want me at all.”

I feel as if my answer will not be good enough to meet his expectations. I drop to the ground using the right side of my body to brace all of my weight.

“Ambassador, I am asking, begging you to believe me. I do not know anything. If you are to punish anyone, just punish me alone for any alleged crimes. Please leave Hadley, Benja, Nayze, and Yency out of it.”

I didn’t even bother to think about what their identifiers were. I probably should not have used their given names, but I am not thinking clearly. I am trying to save their lives. I just hope I have not made things worse.

I peek up to see the Ambassador’s face is filled with disgust, pity, and most disturbingly, pure exasperation. I know my plea was not enough. I know I have failed. The last thing I see is his large tree trunk of a leg rearing back before it connects directly with my nose. My body flies backwards, and I lay on the ground in a pool of my own blood from my broken nose, and I am limboing between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness.

Ambassador Tarik directs two Grods to come into the room. “Take him away and throw him in confinement until I figure out what to do with him.”

As one of the Grods is dragging me out, I manage enough strength to raise my head. Right before my awareness fades into oblivion, I hear the Ambassador’s words clearly. I will never be able to forget them. He says to the other Grod, “He is lying. Bring in his friends. One of them will talk.”

“And if they don’t?” the Grod replies.

The Ambassador makes sure he looks at me before he emotionlessly says it. “Kill them all.”

Chapter 4

My eyes gradually open to discover I have been locked in a small square chamber. The walls are all so brightly and perfectly painted white my eyes reflexively squint. I begin to sit up, but at first movement, I am reminded of the injuries I sustained. My shoulder is screaming at me to lie back down, and luckily, my face has become numb from the overwhelming pain. I stubbornly ignore my body as I set up to take in my surroundings. I lean against the white wall, and my back hits a metal-chromed ring attached behind me. I look down at the bed I am sitting on. The white sheets are tucked in neatly with a plush gray blanket sharply tucked in on the sides with neatly folded hospital corners. Even the pillow is soft. I notice there is a white porcelain odd shaped object in the corner of the room with a chrome handle. A weird looking contraption. The room is neat and clean in every aspect. The tile floors are almost so shiny I can see my reflection. Then, I actually do begin to see my reflection. I can see my now crooked nose is covered in dried blood and the parts of it that are visible are now a dark purple color.

Suddenly, everything starts flooding back into my mind at once. The meeting with the Ambassador. The questions. The threats.
THE THREATS!
What he said he was going to do. No! He can’t kill them. There is nothing to know. They have nothing to tell him. I had nothing to tell him.

My mind starts to frantically race. How long have I been out? Are they already being questioned? Are they still alive? I hastily jump up from my bed and scream in agony but continue to the large steel door ignoring the pain. I grab the handle to pull it open, but the lock is dead bolted. I keep pulling and jerking the handle repeatedly hoping the door will somehow magically come unhinged. My efforts are to no avail.

Grods in the hall start to yell, “Shut up in there!”

I don’t listen. I keep trying at the door. Screaming in effort to get it open. The Grods warn me again to be quiet. I ignore them. I just get louder, and try even harder to get it open. Then an object comes through the bar openings in the door, an object I have seen before. A tranquilizing laser. The laser fires and hits me in the neck. I am instantly out again.

I regain consciousness again on the bed, except, this time, one of my hands is cuffed to the metal ring hanging from the wall. My mouth is also taped shut. I begin to wonder how long I was out again. This would be an excellent time to have the golden watch I found so long ago in the hidden hut in a working condition. I never could get the thing to work, but I could never make myself throw it away. It reminded me of a different time. One where Hadley and I would have been free to just be with each other. I would not be worried about her or my friends being executed because of my actions. Everything would just be simpler. I am guessing the watch is still securely hidden in the cotton in my bed back in our shack. Where my friends are, or used to be at least. I start to think back to the uncomplicated days when all I had to worry about was toiling from dusk until dawn out in the fields or the woods. Finishing the day and getting to spend the evenings with her. Just me and Hadley sitting on our porch reading to each other. Slowly growing in our love for each other with every passing day.

Now look at me. My friends are possibly being executed at this moment while I am sitting here bound to a wall feeling sorry for myself. Hadley is off somewhere unknown being objectified as a Token by some rich Elitist. I tug again at my bound hand, but I am lacking any strength now. Whether it is a combination of all my injuries finally taking toll or the effects of the tranquilizer that have not quite worn off yet, my efforts are futile. I have got to find a way to get out of here, to help them. But all I can do is just sit here, useless.

What feels like an entire day passes, and my strength has never fully returned. I begin to succumb to my weary eyes and doze off on the soft and comfortable bed. A bed meant for prisoners of the Ambassador that is still better than any place I have ever slept before in my life. Other than sleeping on our hard stone porch with Hadley wrapped in my arms.

I hear a deafening sound. I am awakened with a dreadful realization. It was a gunshot. My body erupts in fury trying to escape from my cuffs. All I can think is who was it? Which one of my friends was just executed because of me? I can’t handle the thought. I just keep concentrating all of my efforts into my improbable escape. I have to take vengeance on them. Somehow, I will make them pay for this despicable act. I expel every single ounce of energy I had left remaining in my body until my body and mind give out at the same time. My eyes struggle to stay open, but ultimately lose as my eyelids slowly close. But unlike one of my friends, they will eventually open again.

There is a loud knock at the door when I am startled back into reality. Two Grods come inside and remove my bondage and rip the tape from my mouth. They each grab me by one of my armpits and effortlessly lift me up and begin dragging me out of the door. I suppose it is my time to die now, but I am going to make sure I provide them no assistance in getting me there. They continue to pull my limp body down the hallway with my toes dragging against the smooth floors. We turn around the corner, and I realize we are heading back towards the metallic chamber. We are going back to the Ambassador’s office. This is where I will meet my fate. The doors open to the black marble room, and they continue to haul me through the room to put me back in my customary chair. As they drag me there, I notice my dried blood is all over the floor. I am surprised they have not even bothered to clean it up yet. But I notice to the right there is more blood, but it is not mine. The blood is too fresh, still forming in a liquid puddle. I cannot bear to look at it any longer. The thought of who it may have come from sickens me to my core. I am rudely dumped into the chair. I notice they did not bother to constrain me here, so I need to be ready at the first opportunity I get. If they are planning to kill me now, I will not go without a fight. I spot a pen lying in front of me on the desk. Not much, but I can use it. I will make sure I take the Ambassador out. I hear the door open again behind me, and I silently prepare to fling my body into ferocious action. But when I glance to my left, I do not see the mountain of man who was the Ambassador. Instead, it is a petite cherry-headed woman who is wearing wide rimmed brown glasses that cover her easy-going green eyes. The only similarity she shares with the Ambassador is she, too, is dressed in all white, but I note the gold-plated Hawk insignias she has sown to her coat lapels.