The Lost Canaries

Chapter 10: Rags to Revolt

CHAPTER TEN – DENBRIGHT

RAGS TO REVOLT

My intelligence team and I are sifting through another round of Hatch House leads as the sun goes down outside the honeycombed dome of the Beehive. Suddenly, Maddox, Renee, Bradley, and Ford burst through the front doors. "Director, you need to take a look at this..." Bradley says with an urgent look. Maddox flips on the camera feeds along the left wall.

Cooks, refusing to work, sit in the hallway outside the Greasy Spoon. Medical attendants have assembled on the front steps of the Medical Circuit as security guards try to will them back inside. An Infinity Court scribe in the crowd spilling across the Quad holds up a sign reading, "Lift the Lockdown!" In the east, the renovation of the orchard tool shed has stalled; construction workers have laid down their hammers and saws. The Monorail car in the south lays dormant, the conductors standing in a cluster at the base of the track. Cameras feeds from the living compartments show armed guards beating refugees back into their rooms.

"We need to make an example out of some of them. The refugees have no discipline because they don't fear us," Maddox says, practically spitting venom at the screens.

"I think the lockdown is doing more harm than good. If we give the refugees what they want, things can settle down," I say, eyes planted to the floor.

Maddox groans. "We can't stand down. They'll walk all over us when they realize how big the vacuum of leadership at CANARY is right now. And unlike you, I don't appreciate being stomped over."

"We have to find another way besides discipline," Ford interjects with a reassuring look in my direction.

"Oh, I have..." a sugary voice pipes up from behind us. Press Secretary Fiona Flicklis, trailed by her usual entourage, saunters into the Beehive. "Public relations expert, at your service!"

"What d'you have?" Renee asks.

Fiona approaches the screens and squints at the strikers. "Well... if we can't scare the refugees into obedience, our only peaceful option is to distract them." My eyes collide with Fiona's, and behind her thick layer of makeup, she wears that same hesitant smile from before the Sedona speech. This bread-and-circuses approach is coming straight from D.C., and I have a feeling it will not be optional.

Fiona turns to the group and bellows, "Ramp up entertainment events! Colosseum shows! Crossaim sporting matches! Extravagant feasts in the Greasy Spoon! Galleria restaurant specials! Spawn more Ragamuffins in our labs to wait on people hand and foot. Hold a memorial for the dead Sedona soldiers tomorrow afternoon to show some compassion. Trust me... having done PR for a living, I know how to paint a glossy sheen over anything." Fiona strokes her scarlet talons against the table next to her as her entourage waits eagerly for her next command.

"That could work..." Renee relents.

"Not aggressive enough," Maddox says curtly.

"You want our own civil war here, too?" Fiona fires back, approaching Maddox as if he were an annoying bee she needs to extract from the hive. Maddox lowers his gaze, and with a sardonic grin, Fiona pulls out her tablet. "And here's a list of all the refugees who weren't part of the riots that we can pay off to publicly support Denbright's administration. Maybe that'll encourage others to calm down."

I manage to quell the disgust threatening to register on my face. "I trust you, Fiona. We'll lift the lockdown tomorrow and put these measures in place. Tell your team to draft me a statement. And schedule the Sedona memorial."

Fiona nods. "Will do, will do. Also, I wanted to speak with you about the FCC's reporting that Tourtombee's been running a targeted social media campaign urging people to join the Red Doves. We should talk about maybe—" But then a ding from her tablet breaks the press secretary's concentration. She peers down, and her illuminated eyes widen at the screen.