Estranged

A Declaration of War

“You heard the man, Layney. Go return what you and Blitz stole.”

Delayne rushed to the stairs they had emerged from, nodding meekly at Gringe as he did so. Lady Synthë said nothing until the boy was gone and the hatch in the ground closed back. Then she scoffed at the District Head, “No need to look at me with such disdain. Delayne leaves unpunished and the people at the Irryhian get their money back. A pretty harmless ploy to get a glimpse of your motives, if I might say so.”

Gringe fought the growl that rumbled within him. “And the stampede? Did you have a hand in that as well?”

“I can’t have the District Head strolling casually into my business. There were eyes following you. A stampede was the only way to lose them and sneak you in through the tunnels.”

His voice ran cold with anger. “People got hurt.”

“All I care about is that you are here now and none of the Seven is aware of this meeting. Now, if it pleases you, I’d like for us to move on to why you requested to meet. My time is precious.”

Gringe was disgusted by her lack of empathy. Not for the first time, he felt like giving in to his anger and abandoning his mission, but he couldn’t. This was a different type of challenge, one his fists alone could not overcome. It grated, but he had to be patient. “RoseField.”

Lady Synthë controlled her features, but she leaned forward ever so slightly, unable to fully hide her curiosity. “What about RoseField?”

“I plan to move on it soon.”

Her face fell. “Many before you have tried.”

“Yes, but I propose an alliance first, not to just forcefully seize territories.”

A hunger gleamed in her eyes. “Interesting. Who else have you approached?”

“No one…yet.”

“There is no way for me to ascertain that, but I’ll take it on good faith. What do I stand to gain from this ‘alliance’?”

“A larger share than you currently possess, and legitimate; backed by the government. I will regain control of RoseField. It is up to you to decide if you’ll be one of the Seven to benefit from it.”

Silence followed. Lady Synthë stared at him, wine glass still swirling, but Gringe knew she was thinking; running the numbers, weighing risk against reward, trying to unearth lies in what he had said. Finally, she asked, “Why me first?”

“Because I have it on good authority that you genuinely care for your own. And in that, we share a common cause.” He rose from his seat. “You have time to think on it, but not much. I will leave now.”

***

Aliyah paused, pulling up the public memo from a week ago.

“To The Seven,

For too long, you and your predecessors have claimed sizable pieces of the district’s resources, dispensing or letting them rot solely to aid your squabbles for larger territories and higher standing—all this at a detriment to the advancement of the wider populace and, hence, the district.

Such selfishness will no longer be tolerated. Recall your men from RoseField at once or face my unmitigated wrath.

Signed: District Head Gringe.”

Gringe focused on the pile of reports on his desk but could feel her stare bore a hole into his forehead. He looked up, “Problem?”

Tapping the device around her wrist with a sigh, Aliya turned off the holo display of her MiraLink. “Seeing as we’re grossly outgunned and outmanned by the Seven, how exactly do you plan on raining ‘unmitigated wrath’ when they eventually refuse to budge?”

“Correction—we’re outgunned and outmanned by the Seven collectively, not individually. They’re a wolf pack who tussle amongst each other for scraps, but now they’ll certainly, even if tentatively, come together to eliminate a common threat, except…,” Gringe held a pointed look.

Aliyah nodded. “This is where Old Aunt Jebba comes in.”

“Exactly. And please, I’d prefer if we referred to her as Lady Synthë. It’s her official alias.”

Aliyah dismissed him with a sound between a giggle and a snort, sliding into the chair across from him. She burst into song, “Old Aunt Jebba. Old Aunt Jebba. Jebba Jebba Jebba.”

Gringe swore under his breath. “I’m sure she can’t even be pleased being called ‘Old Aunt’.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. She aged really well, I guess? But she’s always been Old Aunt to us.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you told me how the meeting went?”

Gringe’s eyes strayed out the window—out past the adjacent administrative building, to the northern edge of the district—taking in the smooth grey wall that stretched high like a mountain. The Level Wall; the gates of his prison. It had been a week since the meeting with Lady Synthë, and a week since he had dispatched the notice about reclaiming RoseField, both without response. Today, he felt anxious; a deep, gnawing unquiet that he hadn’t been able to shake off all morning. Something was coming.

“Hello? Earth to Gringe.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, returning his attention to her.

Aliyah spotted furrowed brows, clearly worried. “Is anything wrong?”

“I…I don’t kno—“

“Sir!” The office door slammed open with a bang, revealing a messenger who leaned against the doorframe, gasping frantically. “They’re here, sir!” the messenger panted, just as his and Aliyah’s MiraLinks flared red with warning alerts.

It was an overcast morning. The air was very thin but fortunately clear of smog. Level 3 was the level most similar in the state to the outside world—good weather was rare. The messenger led them up a ramp, their feet pattering amidst the rising clamour. Administrative staff evacuated the building in droves. Guards poured out of rooms and hallways, fully clad in battle gear and taking up position everywhere. They crouched behind cover, guns pointed toward the large, open quad below—a central driveway bounded on either side by lawns—that stretched between the Ministry’s U-shape and its gates.