MIRAGE - Chapter 1
"How much do you want to bet I can shoot both crows' heads off?"
"Nothing. I'm not making any bets with you, especially if they involve killing innocent animals."
"Fine. How about that rock over there?"
"Mattie, I could hit that."
They were sitting on the beach, about half a mile from the airbase, watching the two crows fly past. The salty smell stung Maxwell's nose and made him slightly dizzy, but he didn't feel like returning yet, not when he could spend a few precious moments with his sister, preferably in silence, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
"You're boring as shit," said Mattie, making moon-shaped indents in the sand with her heel. "I don't even know why I came here with you."
Maxwell closed his eyes, lying down on his back. "Can't you just go somewhere for once without thinking of shooting something? Why do you need to bring that gun everywhere? Relax, listen to the waves, enjoy the scenery. You might never get to do this again."
"Pessimist."
"What can I do? It runs in the family."
"Fine, blame it on the genes." Mattie scrunched up her nose and stood, brushing the sand off her pants. "I'm going for a walk. And don't come with me."
Maxwell propped himself up on one elbow, watching his sister kick off her boots and walk further and further into the distance along the shoreline. He knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about her. He couldn't stop her from taking martial arts lessons, or from playing with their father's gun, or from joining the Air Force. Besides, it was partially his fault anyway. If he hadn't been interested in any of those activities in the first place…
"Sir, sir!"
He looked up and found a young cadet running in his direction.
"Sir, they've been looking all over for you! Thank goodness, you're here!"
Maxwell stood and buttoned his shirt, giving the cadet a casual salute. He liked this new system, where cadets didn't need to call him 'Lieutenant Maxwell' and where an curt wave could pass as a salute, which had arisen lately as a kind of private agreement between the lower ranks. "What happened? Who's they?"
"The Marshal and Commander, sir. Remember the Singularian pilot who was shot down last week? Well, it turns out he may have been telling the truth after all."
To be honest, Maxwell had almost forgotten about him already, with so many other things to think about. They were shooting down enemy spy planes at the rate of two or three every week and each pilot had some kind of funny story to tell. But this pilot had been flying an ordinary fighter plane and somehow landed safely after a full-on attack, then somehow managed to survive the first round of interrogation. Maxwell caught a glimpse of him before they took him to the interrogation room, but his face and hair had been covered in blood."The truth? What do you mean by the truth?"
"He means this guy is actually the traitor he claims to be and is here to help us," said Mattie, suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Maxwell gave her a warning look, but she ignored him. "I heard about this, but I can't believe we're taking his word. I mean, even if he weren't a spy, he's still a traitor. If his own military can't trust him, how can we?"
"That's what I think!" the cadet replied enthusiastically, but Maxwell was already too far away to hear him.
The airbase was a semi-circular building right in the middle of the island, its white concrete walls contrasting sharply with the green trees around it. A stark courtyard lay before it and the hangar extended from the back of the building into another larger open area. Maxwell entered through one of the doors in the corner and first stopped by his room, throwing on his uniform jacket and checking his appearance in the mirror before heading for the Marshal's office.
There was nothing luxurious about the architecture. The walls inside looked about the same as the outside, with very little decoration. The closer Maxwell was to the base, the colder he felt, until he could no longer feel any sort of emotion while he was standing inside the building.
But today, the building was strangely empty. Even the corridors, where one could occasionally see a few people strolling about, was completely still. Maxwell had just reached the Marshal's office when the old Marshal himself came to greet him. Maxwell began the usual salutations, but the Marshal put a finger to his lips and led him into the hallway by the shoulder, away from the office door.
"I have a very important mission for you," he whispered, so quietly that Maxwell found himself reading the man's lips through his thick white mustache. "Don't say anything; I will explain. The man we captured last week recently graduated from the Altus Academy in 3006. He's a lieutenant of the Singularian Air Force, who claims to know how to disable Rome's defenses, if given the proper aide. This seems almost too good to be true, but he has provided sufficient evidence of his identity and seems quite sincere. Still, we cannot trust him. I'm assigning you as one of his assistants, and you will soon meet the others-Wait! Don't talk yet."
But Maxwell couldn't help it. "You've already decided to let him lead his own operation? I don't mean to be disrespectful, Marshal Carter, but this is obviously a set up. We can't even trust his information, not to mention treat him like one of our own."
"You didn't let me finish. We haven't officially given him any assignment… yet. First, I'm giving you a new identity, right here and right now. From this moment on, you are no longer Lieutenant Maxwell. We've locked away all your files and created new ones for you. Everyone who knows your name had already been secretly notified five days ago, including your sister, and Operation MIRAGE officially went into effect last night. Give me your ID badge."
"What?" This could not be happening, nevertheless, Maxwell obediently handed over his badge. An entire operation had been going on behind his back this whole time?
Marshal Carter took the badge and slipped it into his pocket, completely unfazed. "You are still Maxwell, but now you are an airman. Your uniform will be changed, your salary will be cut, and everything will change accordingly. You may consider this a demotion from your current rank, but just know that all of us now hold you with even more respect than before. In addition, you are no longer twenty-five years old, but twenty-one, a fresh young enlistee. And needless to say, you're still a fantastic pilot."
"I can't do this, sir," said Maxwell, feeling faint for the first time in his life, yet he sounded surprisingly confident.
Marshal Carter laughed silently, patting him on the back. "This is what you were originally trained for, Maxwell. Be who you are and become someone else. We need all the information we can about this man. Gain his trust. It may well be that we have nothing to worry about and that this pilot is a friend of ours, but just in case, report to us if you discover anything. I trust you have already found your new self, and hopefully he's happier and less disillusioned than the old Maxwell. Now, here is your new uniform and ID. Your room is now 335. You may change here; I have disabled all security devices in this area and made sure that no one will come by for the next two hours. Leave your uniform on the floor and knock on my door after you are finished."
The Marshal left and Maxwell found himself alone in the silent corridor. His sister had known, but what about his parents, his friends back home? How would he explain this to them? Or perhaps they've already been notified? He felt the fabric of his new uniform, rough and cold compared the one he wore. How many more minutes did he have left before he had to give up the old Maxwell completely? His hands shook, but when he looked down at them, they were completely still. He felt his knees buckle, but he was still standing at his usual height.
He quickly changed and left his old clothes on the floor as told before walking up to the Marshal's door. His heart fluttered and when he looked at his hands this time, they were truly shaking. So the new Maxwell is shy. Perhaps it would be his first time in the Marshal's office. Of course, he had caught a few glimpses of the Marshal before and knew what he looked like, but the Marshal usually didn't have time to talk to airmen. So why was he being called to the office now? Taking a deep breath, he tapped the door twice with the back of his fingers.
"Come in."
The room was very long and the Marshal's desk was all the way at the end. Several other men stood around the desk and the Marshal himself sat behind it, the blue hologram screen of his computer reflecting eerily across his wrinkled face. Maxwell saluted and the Marshal motioned for him to come closer.
"Do you know who this young man is?" he asked, gesturing toward one of the men standing next to him.
The man was in his early twenties, wearing a slightly torn and blood-stained lieutenant uniform, but Maxwell could have recognized him as a Singularian without it, with his straw-colored hair and light skin. "Yes, sir."
"This is Lieutenant Nikolai Sergeyevich," said the Marshal, as if he didn't hear Maxwell's response. "He was a lieutenant of the Singularian Air Force and now he is one of us. Please get him a clean officer uniform and show him to your room. That's all."
Maxwell stared at him, then at the young Singularian lieutenant, who was standing very still with a blank expression on his face, then back the the Marshal.
"Well, what are you waiting for?"
That was his cue: Maxwell saluted the Marshal and tilted his head for Nikolai to follow him. They left the room and Maxwell gently closed the door. For a while, they walked in silence, Maxwell leading the way. He wanted to take a better look at this man, just to see if he looked anything like a traitor, but the new Maxwell was hesitant to turn around.
"You don't talk much, do you?" said Nikolai, finally breaking the silence. He certainly didn't sound like a traitor.
Maxwell shrugged, hoping Nikolai would say more, but they didn't talk for the rest of the way. When they arrived at room 335, Maxwell took out his ID and opened the door. The room came with all his stuff, albeit arranged a bit too messily for his taste, and one of the beds looked as if someone had slept in it already. "You can take that side," said Maxwell, nodding at the well-made bed, avoiding eye contact. "I'll get you a new uniform. Wait here."
The door gently slid shut. Maxwell leaned against the corridor wall, cupping his face in one hand. He had never been in such proximity to a Singularian before, and now he would have to share his room with one. Yes, it was his room now, and everything was still there. Well, almost. The family photographs of him and his sister, all of his books and journals, and all other identifying information had probably already been thrown into the atomizer by the Marshal's orders.
It was his first time in the uniform room. He looked through every shelf for the cadet uniforms, holding his breath for as long as possible so that the smell of disinfectant spray wouldn't knock him out. Suddenly, he wished he had taken a better look at Nikolai. What size was he? All Maxwell could remember was that they were around the same height. The spray particles were starting to make him tear, so he quickly grabbed his own size and left the room.
When he got back to his room, the Singularian was still completely dressed in his soiled uniform, standing in the same place he had been in when Maxwell left.
"Here," said Maxwell, tossing him the new uniform, which he caught deftly.
"Thank you." Nikolai looked up and Maxwell suddenly noticed the large bruise on his cheek and the long cut on his forehead, half hidden by his bangs, which still had traces of blood clinging to them. Besides that, he was quite attractive, and he had the most beautiful eyes Maxwell had ever seen. Maxwell knew people could have gray eyes, but he had never seen them on a real person before. "Is there somewhere I can change?"
Maxwell frowned. "You can change here," he said.
"A bathroom, perhaps?"
That annoyed the new Maxwell, but triggered something else in the old one. "What do you have to hide?"
"Nothing," said Nikolai, undoing one button of his shirt at a time, in order, without breaking eye contact. So apparently, he was pissed too. Not off to a great start. "You might want to consider that my customs are different from yours, instead of suspecting me of hiding something. Besides, I'd like to take a shower before putting on clean clothes, but as the old saying goes, 'When in Rome…'"
Maxwell might have taken him to be the type who likes using cliché phrases, if he weren't Singularian, or if Rome didn't just happen to be the Singularian capital. But this was obviously meant as a comeback, not a concession, not to mention this guy had just suggested Pangaeans were a dirty lot. The new Maxwell lowered his eyes and didn't respond, maybe out of shyness or inability to come up with a better comeback.
Nikolai stripped down to his underwear, revealing a host of cuts and bruises and the blood that had dried since last week, clinging to his pale skin like dark contracting webs. He neatly folded his dirty clothes and placed them on the floor near the bed."Can you show me to the bathroom now?" he asked again. This time, there was no hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"This way." Maxwell led him down the hall, feeling a little guilty that this guy now had to walk through the hall with its security cameras, almost naked and in such a pitiful state, all because of him. The old Maxwell had no regrets. "There are clean towels on the shelves. When you're done, just toss it through the door on the wall. You'll have to pull it open by the handle. Also, give me that and I'll bring you another one." Maxwell nodded toward the new uniform in Nikolai's arms. "I think I got the wrong size."
Nikolai raised his eyebrows in surprise, then handed it over without a word of protest and went into the bathroom. He now had nothing with him but his underwear, which was not dark or baggy at all, and Maxwell was not about to check if he was hiding a gun in there. There were no bathroom windows and Nikolai couldn't open the door to their room without a badge. If he had anything planned, he would only have less than five minutes to do it, and he'd have to do it in his underwear.
Maxwell waited for the shower to turn on before heading back to the uniform room. He quickly checked all the pockets for anything Nikolai might have hidden in them, refolded the uniform, and grabbed a smaller one from the next shelf. When he came back Nikolai was still in the shower. He soon heard the shower turn off and Nikolai came out with a towel around his waist and his wet underwear in his hand.
"The towel goes in the door on the wall," said Maxwell, waving for him to go back in. "Here's your new uniform."
He noticed Nikolai's gaze lingered on the uniform a little longer this time. Wow, the bastard was checking to see if it was the same one. Did he really think Maxwell would be stupid enough to inspect the uniform with the excuse of bringing back a smaller size, then bring back the same one?
Or maybe he's just wondering if he has to put it on without underpants, the new Maxwell thought. The old Maxwell mentally slapped himself for being oversuspicious this time. Well, Nikolai would just have to go commando for a day. No way was he going to lend another guy his underwear.
"Why is it different from yours?" Nikolai finally asked, referring to the uniform.
You mean, why is it nicer, thought Maxwell, but it kept this to himself. "I'm not an officer," he said. That was the first real lie he had to tell, after all those years of intelligence training, and it was surprisingly easy. "We enlistees get the white ones."
For the first time since they met, Nikolai smiled. "That's funny. Singularian uniforms are the opposite. Only the officers get the white ones."
Maybe it was the fact that he had smiled, or the childish observation, or the way he had said 'the' instead of 'our,' but Maxwell felt considerably warmer toward him after this comment. "See if it fits," he said. "Tell me if it doesn't and I'll get you another one." Since when had he become so nice?
A minute later, Nikolai came back out in his new clothes. They were perhaps still a size too big, but he didn't complain, straightening his collar and following Maxwell back to the room. He hung his washed underwear on the hook near his dresser to dry.
"What region of Singularis are you from?" asked Maxwell, sitting cross-legged on his bed.
"Russia."
"Do you speak Russian?"
"Not really," said Nikolai, combing his wet hair with his fingers and taking a seat at the desk.
"What do you mean?"
Nikolai frowned. "Well, our teachers didn't speak very well either, so we mostly learned from old recordings from the twenty-seventh century and earlier. It's like that with all the other languages too-French, Arabic, Hindi, even Chinese… They're all dead. Anything you hear about our people regularly speaking in their regional language is a lie. It's much easier to just speak Pangaean."
"Wow…" said Maxwell. He didn't know anything beyond what an ordinary Pangaean might know. The old Maxwell was gone. "I never knew. I've always thought that Russian people still speak Russian all the time. I mean, the regional governor always appears on the news speaking Russian… Anyway, you sound bitter."
Nikolai shrugged. "Maybe I am. I'm just so sick of our government lying to us, trying to change our perception of reality. I'm proud that all of my ancestors were Russian, but I can't say that I'm Russian. I don't understand Russian culture, Russian history, and neither does anyone else. There's no point to this war. No one believes in what our country stands for anymore. They're sick of war-they've reclaimed their national identities, they've gotten what they needed. This war continues only because of the selfish few who hold the power to control our army and government. We fear them, but we also fear revolution."
Maxwell stared at him, half impressed and half amused. Nikolai reminded him somewhat of the passionate characters in old Russian literature, who could so easily bare their souls to any kind stranger willing to lend an ear. Maxwell wanted to tell him this, but his new self was not well-read.
"What's your name?"
"Huh?"
"Your name," Nikolai repeated softly. "You never even told me your name, and I'm telling you everything about myself."
"Oh, sorry, I'm Maxwell, but you can just call me Max." Maxwell had always dreaded that name.
But apparently not anymore.
- - -
Quick explanation: This story takes place in the year 3009, so '3006' and 'twenty-seventh century' were not typos. Basically, communication and travel became so easy and different ethnicities were intermarrying so often that borders became pointless. At the time of the story, the world basically consists of two countries, Pangaea and Singularis. But at one point about 300 years ago, Pangaea was the only country, but the people who wanted to preserve their own cultures and nations split off and continued to expand into what we know as Europe, Asia, and Africa. They called their new country Singularis, and different regions within Singularis have maintained their ethic 'purity.' Everything else will be explained in future chapters.
Thanks for reading! FP Link: http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2692936/1/MIRAGE