Chester and the 24-hour Lottery

Chester woke to a surprise visit the following morning. Back popping when he lazily stretched he glanced across the room to see Ernesto Saldivar sitting at the table with an amused smile.

“Whoa,” Chester jumped, quickly reaching to the floor for pants, “How long have you been here?”

Saldivar shrugged then Chester noticed how tired and disheveled the man appeared. Chester finished dressing and hurried to his side, relieved he’d come to speak to him at last. Racket’s threats were taking a toll on his conscience.

“How have you been treated, Chester?” Saldivar questioned, motioning for him to sit.

He answered honestly, “Fair enough Sir, with Racket and Garth dictating what I can and cannot do.”

Saldivar nodded, brown eyes red-rimmed with dark heavy bags underneath, “I’m sorry if Racket’s offended you. I’ve known her since infancy noticing from the start what an asset she would be to the cause.”

Chester shifted uneasily, “I know she and Van are Construct Babes. Racket is...”

“Go on,” he chuckled a little, “Do not hold back.”

“She asks questions. Last night she threatened my mother with public execution if I refused to murder Emily Allard. Why would she do that? Are you telling her to do these things?”

Saldivar’s eyebrows rose in clear confusion, “No. Allard has returned to her neighborhood allowing Spell to continue manufacturing the drug meant to override one’s perception of free will.”

“Perception? I’ve seen what it can do after Spell dosed my mother.”

“Let me give you an update of what’s transpired,” Saldivar cleared his throat, “Many of the states are now free, including Acheron. In our own state, Allard’s in lockdown except for Ozark officers who upped patrols and are cleaning house. There’s no one working or traveling as citizens who lacked in their duties or did not pay the lottery blood oath debt are being rounded up and sent to Fort Ozark and The Institute.”

Chester clenched his hands on his knees, “You’ve lost control of The Institute and care of the children? It’s an excuse for murder isn’t it?”

Saldivar’s eyes became wet, “We did not expect how well officers would respond. I should have, spending years preparing for the day family’s would reunite. I’ve asked other states for support but its chaos. We are on our own. Every state for itself as it were.”

“What about the other council members? Are they protecting their neighborhoods?”

Saldivar shook his head with a deep sigh, “March banded with Spell’s campaign, issuing a bulletin proclaiming a new remarkable drug will help Ozark become united once more. There was a minor riot where they executed citizens Those left are waiting for relief.”

“He’s murdering anyone who speaks up! I heard he’s calling it Drivel Delirium.” Chester spat.

“Spell’s putting it like this, without the government assigning housing, jobs or credits where would citizens be? They wouldn’t be able to eat or turn to anyone for help because they are not useful citizens and a scab on society. Every able body needs to do their part or else we’re living in a society where one life matters over everything else. Listening to one man, you, who threw his life away in a single day is not right in the head and anybody who agrees suffers from delusions. Every morning Spell broadcasts from his hideout the founder's statement of belief.”

“War, famine, and drought making totalitarianism the clear choice after progressive DNA profiling balanced the odds of survival but that was eons ago. Things need to change! Spell is raving mad!” Chester grew more frustrated as he rattled off facts hammered into his brain as a child, “It’s all a power trip, not to undo the damage our forefathers created.”

“There’s a lot to do in a short amount of time,” the man slapped his palms on the table, “I’m pleased you’re with us.”

Chester understood he was busy, but felt the conversation got them nowhere, “I still have questions. Where’s Diamond and Crane?”

“Safe, but no longer in power. Their charges are under Ozark officers now. There’s no activity in Wayfarer City until Spell allows it. I didn’t expect the mass of self-serving soldiers he accumulated. As long as they’re living the high life, they will obey Spell. It’s not wise to travel during the day, so we use the cover of night.”

Chester sighed in despair, “Spell can’t do this. We’re human beings! How do you plan to stop Allard?”

Saldivar frowned, his face saddening, “Ozark may be lost. We have a small army, but so does he. There has to be a solution.”

“Why did Racket tell me to take out Allard then?”

“She did?” Saldivar stood, looking surprised, “She’s an ambitious woman but I’ll speak with her. Do not worry about your mothers’ safety, she might be testing you. Racket’s a soldier through and through and cunning.”

Chester stood up with a dozen more questions swirling in his head, “Can I leave?”

“Acheron or the room?”

He smiled, “The room. I haven’t seen Van since we arrived and I’d like to talk to Joey. Sir, I want you to know I’ll help in any way I can. I’ve had a chance to reflect and realize I’m not a leader or soldier but the people believed me. Listened. They need another voice besides Spell droning in their ear.”

“What are you suggesting?” he cocked his head, “That you should be the voice of hope?”

Chester shrugged self-consciously at the amusement in Saldivar’s tone, “Van suggested it once. There has to be a way to upset Spell’s agenda. I’m willing to do my part if it’ll stop citizens from being drugged.”

“There might be, but I need to meet others. Stay hopeful. Take care, Chester.”

Chester slowly readied for the day, thinking Saldivar had given little information except that Spell was still in charge and planning to put the state in a permanent stupor with Allard’s help. How would Spell do it? How will they stop him?

He gazed at his reflection in the tiny mirror above the sink scowling at the long scratch mark on his chest. A single reminder that Racket was filling his head with psychobabble nonsense.

Who was he trying to kid? He couldn’t do shit. Vanyla knew how to fight and plan, but he was just a menial laborer.

Garth arrived a few minutes later, his usual stoic self, “You talk to Saldivar?”

Chester nodded, “He said I can leave the room. Racket’s keeping me isolated on purpose.”

Garth smirked at his pissed off attitude, “She’s a piece of work. Come on, I’ll eat breakfast with you. How did Saldivar seem?”

Chester filled Garth in as they walked, leaving out he volunteered to speak to citizens. The offer had come from the heart, catching the sorrow and defeated look in Saldivar’s eyes, setting off a desire to do something productive. Van made it sound like a reasonable idea, but looking over at Garth, understood there was no place for him.

“Whoo-hoo, catfight!”

“Oh damn, that had to hurt!”

Garth hurried to the mess hall and Chester wondered what the ruckus was about. When they spotted Van and Racket glaring at each other as several men held them back from one another, he let out a low groan.

Garth turned to him, warning, “Don’t even think of running. It’s an underground installation and they’ll find you.”

Chester jerked, “What do you mean?”

“Why would two Construct Babes fight when their acumen’s unfathomable?”

He opened and closed his mouth, not understanding as Van called Racket a slew of nasty words he himself wanted to call the woman when she’d nearly broken his neck last night in an awkward sexual position.

“You, you dumb shit,” Garth jabbed his thumb at the scene, “For a scrawny, whiny guy you get laid a lot. My bet is on Van.”

Quickly collecting himself Chester snapped, “They’re both mentally unstable. They could be fighting about anything.”

“Chet!” Van shouted, noticing him, “Let me go assholes!”

“Chet?” Racket echoed, “What are you doing here?”

The people restraining the women retreated, and both headed his way with intensity. He inched towards the entrance but Garth grabbed his arm, “Nu-uh buddy, gotta face them eventually and I want to see which one kicks your ass.”