Enchained (Enchained Trilogy book 1)

Untitled Part 11

The clinking of metal forks on ceramic plateware dances in my ears, transforming into white noise, as I eat a slice of ham, smothered in a semi-sweet sauce, surrounded by my fellow arbiters. We remain silent during our meal—pointless conversation is not encouraged. My eyes flicker to Commander Vye's chair as it sits alone and vacant among the monotony of our breakfast routine. Where is she? Most days, she is here, eating with us, making certain that we follow protocol and do not forget our place, but this particular morning, she has been difficult to locate, making her absence all the more mysterious and unsettling. Did something happen to her? Am I going to end up with a new mentor? I hope not. I have just memorized her eccentricities: what angers her and what pleases her, enough so that I should be able to navigate through the rest of this year without garnering her wrath too much.

I finish my last forkful of ham and drain my glass of water, wishing I could have some of that cranberry juice that was served at the banquet, but sugary drinks are not allowed for arbiters and our caloric intake is monitored. Though, judging by the beginnings of a round stomach on some, it does not stop them from sneaking in a few treats, and I know where I can go to get some juice if I wish. I just need to be careful not to overdo it, since I need to be certain that I can pass my biannual physical. Every arbiter is required to do a physical twice a year to ensure that we are maintaining our physical strength and well-being. I scoot away from the table, plopping my fork on my plate—a plebeian snatches it and wipes the area with a warm, moist, white towel—and leave the dining area, meandering into the corridor and to the lounge room, not knowing where I am to be assigned today: Commander Vye has neglected to inform me of it.

Where is she?

Changing my mind, I veer from the lounge area and creep over to her office. Most do not go near it, unless they have been summoned, or have something to report, as it is best to leave her alone when she has confined herself in there, but curiosity is difficult to ignore and shove aside sometimes. Muffled voices spill from the cracked door to her office, intensifying as I draw closer, remaining in the shadows, not wanting to be caught by another arbiter or accused of spying, even though I am snooping. I peek through the crack and see footage playing on the wall monitor of the riot that took place a few days ago. I watch as images of people brawling or maiming one another repeat themselves, remarking at how watching it on a screen is very different from being caught in it.

"You can see why our presidents and the council are concerned."

I freeze the moment I hear the man within her office speak. Molers. I thought I had left him behind at the training facility when I passed the gauntlet and received my assignment. What is he doing here?

"Yes, I can," Commander Vye replies in a cold voice of her own.

"This is the fifth riot in the last three months," says Molers.

"I'll handle it."

"Like how you are handling them now?"

"Are you questioning my methods?" demands Commander Vye. "I have been in charge of the security of the eastern sector for twenty-three years, and in all that time, we have had relative peace and stability."

"Relative being the operative word here," says Molers, "and in the last few years, that stability has been shaky at best."

"Perhaps if the council would let us rebuild our most important facilities: hospices, schools, factories—perhaps, then, we would see less unrest."

"Are you questioning the council?" The dangerous undertone in Molers' voice unnerves me.

"Stating a fact. We bear the brunt of these attacks, and our sector is always under a state of constant ruin because of it."