BLUEMANTLE Karen Langston (digital ebook reader txt) 📖

Aspects of his life began to make sense for the first time. He had no memories from his childhood. The fact of his adoption by the Authority was something told to him, rather than an experience he recalled. The Authority and the Allears was all he knew. He had put it down to absorption in the role. It had taken over his life; it was his life. And he had accepted that, just as he had accepted and championed the Authority’s manifesto. Do I believe in it? Is it really what I want too? Even as he asked himself the question, he thought, Yes. The Music Makers are a threat to the Authority. They are dangerous. They must be captured at all cost. Yet the thoughts came ready-made; precast and constructed like so much of Wallace’s concrete legacy. I know this. But do I believe it?

He searched deep inside his buried self, fighting to ignore the man on the outside. In the depths of his gut, his instinct had been a gagged voice, but at times he had heard its muffled cries. Those instances of opposition, of downright disgust, he had had to suppress and deny. They would have been regarded as weakness, disloyalty. The Authority’s brutality was justified as a means to an end. A questioning of those means would have been deemed a lack of commitment to achieving that end. Not quite treason, but close enough.

Dent had questioned the means, repeatedly. But only ever to himself. His loyalty was ingrained. He was impeccably trained. At times he had almost felt ashamed of the doubts. It was as if, even by thinking them, he was already failing Governor Blix and the Authority.

His mind turned to his meeting with the Governor the previous day. He had been on edge from the outset. Then came her strange behaviour towards him, denigrating his performance, probing without questioning. It’s as if she suspects something, he thought. But how can she? I don’t even know myself. Serving her will had always been his personal mission, more than mere duty. Her goal was his, her motives his own. With the commitment to achieving a mutually desired end, he had felt genuine respect for the woman.

He had regarded her as strong, determined, ambitious. Now he felt wary of her, intimidated, threatened. You don’t cross the A; that wasn’t hearsay or reactionary rumour to an inflated reputation. It was fact. And Dent knew the consequences. Whilst he was loyal through conviction, he knew of many troopers whose obedience was motivated by fear. For the first time in his memory, he knew how they felt.

What can I do? he thought. I don’t even know… I don’t understand… But how can I carry on?

As if putting him to the test, his pager beeped. Recognising the number, his heart sank. Helpless as to an alternative course, he forced the questions back and grasped hold of the attitude that was second nature. Disguised beneath familiar skin, Dent ran back down the trail, not stopping until he reached the towering gates of the Authority Complex and the nearest telephone.

The number had been Wulfwin’s office. When Dent dialled in, a junior officer relayed the message. He was to report to Detention Centre C immediately.

Dusty and sweat-streaked from his run, Dent reluctantly abandoned his plan to shower and headed straight for C-Block, the highest security penitentiary on the Complex.

Dent had very little to do with detention and nothing to do with interrogation. The order to meet Wulfwin inside C-Block rattled his already agitated nerves. He approached the building with a foreboding that its bleak exterior encouraged. A vast, concrete structure, jutting at angry angles, its looming façade was pierced by narrow apertures like multiple stab wounds.

“You look a wreck,” said Wulfwin, emerging from the main entrance as Dent approached. “And I made the order twenty minutes ago. Where the fuck have you been?”

“I was running the trail.”

“That’s why you stink like a goat’s groin. No matter. Smells a damn sight worse in there,” he said, nodding to the block behind him.

“With your permission, I’d like to shower. If there’s time.”

“There isn’t.” Wulfwin spun around. “Follow me. I’ll fill you in on the way.” He marched into the building with Dent on his trench coat-tail.

They passed through a reception foyer and down a narrow passageway, dismal grey. Fluorescent tubes hung from the ceiling at intervals, emitting a faint buzz – amplified white noise to Dent’s sensitive ears. He struggled to hear Wulfwin’s explanation.

“New orders from the top. Governor wants you to diversify your talents. You’re to assist with questioning.”

“But I don’t…” Dent stopped in his tracks, stunned. He had to jog to catch up. “I spoke with the Governor yesterday. She didn’t mention anything.”

“Well, whatever you did talk about, it appears you’ve pissed her off. She wants you hands on. Playing nasty. Hence ‘C’, rather than the poke and tickle in the other blocks.”

“I didn’t say anything. She asked me about family.”

“Ain’t my problem, trooper,” he said, holding up a hand as he continued marching down the hall. “I’m just following orders. But I reckon this is going to be your problem. Don’t think I don’t know. I just can’t work out what it’s about – if it’s because you’re squeamish or you’re just too fuckin’ soft. Same difference. I tell you, if you were in my squad, I’d have beaten it out of you by now. Sorted your spineless aversion to the tooth-and-nail approach to law and order. Ain’t I right, Lore? You’re a fucking weak sister.”

“I’m an Allear. And I’m good at my job. Violence is not a prerequisite.”

“Whatever you say, Lore. It’s still written all over your yellow-bellied face. That’s why I know you’re not going to enjoy what’s about to happen. And why you’ll try to worm your way out of following this particular order, like you did with recruitment. I happen to agree with your rationale behind the Test reforms. The Governor, however, seems to have