Page 36 of Us Dark Few

Alexander Huxley ruled with an iron fist and was the highest-ranking leader in Apollo. Unlike the Master Judge, the Governor of Apollo would hold his position until death. He was the one who ordered the creation of Genesis, further increasing the divide between the wealthy and common people of Apollo, and sentenced the Braderhelm prisoners to their deaths.

More importantly, Governor Huxley was the man who ordered the guards to shoot the protesters of Genesis, murdering her parents.

Six councilmen flanked the Governor on either side, wearing robes the color of blood.

Fitting.

The Apollo Councilmen were the shields, and the Governor was the hand that shoved the dagger in your back.

“Governor Huxley!” the lead guard stammered and bowed deeply. “To what do we owe this incredible honor?”

Alexander extended his hands as if preparing to deliver a sermon. “Good evening, gentleman. I was just lecturing my councilmen while we strolled through the unbelievable city of Apollo. Life aboveground in Genesis can get quite boring, wouldn’t you say?” His voice was inky smooth.

“Yes, of course, sir.” The guards nodded emphatically. “Very boring.”

Governor Huxley chuckled and tilted his head to the side. “How would you know if you’ve never been to Genesis?”

The lead guard blanched. “N-no, sir. So sorry, sir. I would never disagree with your opinion, sir. You have impeccable taste and are assuredly correct in all your assessments.”

The guard gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, as the ensuing silence seemed to last a lifetime. Alexander Huxley finally broke into uproarious laughter. The three guards and councilmen joined him.

The disturbing interaction was like watching a real-life puppet play unfold, and the Governor held all the strings.

“We are lucky to have you, son.” Governor Huxley clapped the terrified guard on the shoulder. “I’m sure you would happily be at the front line in the event of any insurgence, ready to purge Apollo of all who would see her destroyed.”

The guard straightened in relief and puffed out his chest. “Absolutely, sir, you can count on me.”

“Good, good.” The Governor took a couple steps forward, casually dismissing the guard. “I presume these are Braderhelm prisoners, participating in city cleanup, yes?”

Khalani kept her eyes down on the broom, vigorously sweeping, but all her focus and attention was on the Governor. The guard’s voice echoed in her ear, “Absolutely, sir. We are keeping a close eye on them.”

Governor Huxley slowly approached the prisoners several feet to the left of Khalani. “Participating in city cleanups is a fantastic way to oversee rehabilitation efforts. Keeps them in line. You see, councilmen, not all Braderhelm prisoners are completely lost to society.” His silky voice made her shiver.

He loomed closer to Khalani, who clutched her broom like a lifeline and kept her eyes glued to the ground.

“For some, rehabilitation is impossible, Governor Huxley,” one councilman bravely said.

“Like the Death-Zoner.”

A few councilmen muttered among themselves as tension filled the air.

Khalani frowned, ears perking up at the whispered words. Death-Zoners were celebrities. They had the most critical job in Apollo, traveling on foot to the closest underground trade city, Hermes.

Only a chosen few were selected, the strongest mentally and physically. They traded Apollo’s crops for medicine and other invaluable resources. The journey took weeks to reach Hermes on foot, not to mention being weighed down with the heavy radiation suits and packs to hold supplies.

The position held the greatest need but was also the most dangerous. Apollo had the material to build only a few suits that could withstand the high radiation levels.

Many Death-Zoners perished on the treacherous road, walking the earth’s surface. And they lived like kings in Genesis after they returned from Hermes every six months.

She heard stories of Hermes from a Death-Zoner invited to her school graduation as a special guest.

“Hermes has it all. They have shops and bars. Even a casino!” he said after one too many drinks at the reception.

She had no idea what a ‘casino’ was.

“They got it right over there, I’m telling you. Keep their people happy and content while they rot underground. Slow boil.” The Death-Zoner laughed and took a big swig from his drink.

Her eyes didn’t stray from the broom, but the underlying threat in Alexander Huxley’s voice was evident. “I could have you join the prisoners, Wyatt, and then you can tell me if rehabilitation works.”

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