By Oracle9
A collection of stories about Faye Ming-liang.
Consortium Arc
Episode 1
Faye ran the bath until a layer of steam coated the bathroom interior. She undressed, leaving her blouse on the floor. In the reflective tiled walls there were dreadfully crimson marks along the sides of her torso and they travelled up her chest and over her shoulders. She lowered herself into the tub.
Since she was born, red patches waxed and waned on her skin like the moon. She had seen doctors, in confidence, and they didn't know what to do. There was no cure. The nights alone were tortorous, the pain gnawing away at her legs. She often cried into a pillow. Over the years, she worked her way up the rungs of medications.
In the present day, she reached over from the tub and opened a drawer and extracted a bright orange bottle that read PREDNISONE. The pills gave her a glimpse into an alternate dimension. One where she didn't have to cover her skin up to the neck. In this dimension, she went to her high school prom, danced with the boy she liked. She wore swimsuits openly, exercised every day. Her bedside table wasn't filled with pillboxes and labels. In this dimension, she'd died at the ripe old age of 89 in her husband's arms. These glimpses lasted until the patches trickled back onto her arms and legs.
She'd had lots of time to think about the side effects. All the ways that these pills would end up fucking her over. Dependence, liver failure, osteoporosis. She twisted the cap off and gulped 2 pills down dry.
Episode 2
Faye gulped down an anti-inflammatory without water, before she entered the conference room. Seven stuffy CEOs flanked the table in each seat, all of them men, their eyes shifting around to meet her. Synchronized, they rose and bowed. A collective "Your majesty." Faye knew each of them by name and the company which they managed. She knew where they lived and where their children went to school and the vacation homes that they owned in different parts of the city. Most of them woke up at around 7 am and arrived to the office an hour later, except for Frederick who woke up late. They each went to the bathroom an average of four times throughout the day, most of them for innocuous reasons. Jack did drugs in the bathroom, cocaine, though his addiction hadn't yet affected the performance of his company and so did not merit intervention. The men's browsing habits did not deviate from online shopping, TV shows, news articles, and answering emails. Except for Jack. Jack had looked at the webpage for applying for Marinian citizenship. His father immigrated from Marino and this allowed him to claim nationality, though he had not yet done so. He was not allowed to do so. Now, Jack was sitting on the left side of the conference table, squarely between two other CEOs whose children went to the same private academy as his in lower Aberdeen.
"As discussed earlier, you all will incur some temporary salary cuts, though this is not expected to have an effect on your quality of life," Faye said as she sat down. She passed around sheets to each of the men. "My finance minister has prescribed a five-year plan for each of you that you must follow to the last detail. Eventually, you will get even more money than you had before, assuming that your companies keep up in terms of performance."
The men looked over the papers, all of their possible expenses budgeted and accounted for. Expenses they didn't know Faye had knowledge of. All of it laid out, neatly organized.
"Why exactly should we have to follow this?" Jack said. They all looked at him. He held up the paper and waved it around.
"Mr. Qu," Faye said, "The conditions for receiving government subsidies were very clear. You signed a contract agreeing to these pay cuts long before we had this meeting. It will not even put a dent in your net worth."
Jack Qu was restless in his seat. His eyes were wide. He threw the papers back across the table, towards Faye. "We made this money. It was us. Not you, not the government."
"This is not up for deba-"
"We get to decide how to spend it. It doesn't matter what a contract says, it's our money, and you know there's no court out there that would back you up on this. It's theft."
Faye tilted her head. Jack got up and walked to the window. From here Jack could see cargo ships moving down the Novenae canal, carrying products from his own company. "You don't have to lecture me on ROI. As far as I'm concerned, you've got it. We gave you jobs, bumped up your GDP. Is it not enough? Do you have to waste our money on housing people who haven't even earned it?"
Faye paused to adjust her glasses. "You can run away to Marino, Mr. Qu..."
Jack tensed up.
"... but your money will not follow. I will make sure of it. And you or your family will not be allowed back into Novenae again." Faye threw the papers back onto Jack's side of the table. "Even dogs know not to bite the hand that feeds them. Sit down."
Jack, flustered, took his seat.
"From now on," Faye said, barely audible. "I need your belief."
Faye adjusted her glasses.
"This is a war, and we are fighting for a future where our children no longer have to suffer. Where we no longer have to suffer."
The businessmen looked on in silence.
"And if you are not with us, you are against us."
Episode 3
"We offer our deepest condolences for the deaths of the two Gurkhas, your majesty," one of the CEOs said. "We- all of us- are fully willing to cooperate with law enforcement."
Faye was looking out the window, at somewhere distant. She pulled herself back into the conference room. "I appreciate that. They were good men." She circled back and took her seat at the head of the conference table. Gurkhas flanked each side of the room, part of the heightened security measures. "They're not sure who did it. Just a blurry piece of footage from the night of. We think it was someone on our staff."
"Someone working under the Cabinet?" one of the CEOs asked.
"Maybe." Faye looked up. "A lot of people use this building."
"It could be someone in this room," Jack Qu said. He had his arms crossed at the far end of the table. Everyone in the room, save for the Gurkhas, stared at him. "Could be, couldn't be."
"What are you suggesting, Mr. Qu?" Faye asked.
"I'm just stating the obvious," Jack waved his hands playfully. "Since you don't seem to realize."
"Realize what?"
"There is always a consequence, Faye. A consequence for every choice. Just because you got elected, and you hold the keys to the castle, doesn't make that fact any different." The CEO sitting next to Jack mouthed quietly: what are you doing?
"The deaths of two innocent soldiers are a consequence?"
Jack gestured around the room. "We are some of the most powerful people in this city, and you think that you can get away with taking our money and sending us on our merry way? I'm not saying I was behind the deaths of those soldiers, I wasn't. You have no way to prove that I was. But you are messing with an order that has been established since this city was founded."
Most of the CEOs seemed unsure, caught between the two options.
"This is the city of corporations."
Faye looked at the Gurkha standing behind Jack. She blinked twice and nodded.
"Corporations run the show. There's a reason HR didn't-"
Faye got up from her seat and strode across the room. Jack could feel her breath on his nose as she leaned in. "Look at me, Mr. Qu. Do I look like HR?" Faye relented. "There's a new order here, Mr. Qu. I don't have to be nice. I don't have to be fair. That's why I'm removing you from this Consortium. Effective immediately."
Jack leaned back in his chair. He looked around the room. "Are you seeing this?" He looked each CEO in the face. "Are you going to do anything about this? Are you going to hold her accountable?"
Everyone kept quiet.
Jack scoffed. "Cowards. You're all cowards."
Episode 4
As soon as he got to his condo, Jack took the bag out of his suit pocket and spilled the contents out onto his coffee table. He took out his credit card, cutting a white powder into finer and finer parts. His head was being squeezed. The paranoia was building. Finer and finer parts, particles so smooth that they'd slide through his nostrils and through the capillaries into his bloodstream. He did this when he was a young CEO, with Andrea. At the first penthouse he ever bought, they did coke and made love all night. Not anymore. Andrea was officially three years sober, and he was too. Now he did coke alone, in this condo that he bought in complete secrecy. Somewhere Andrea and the kids didn't know about, where they wouldn't stumble into him like this. Trying to relive the glory days. Jack watched his reflection erase the white lines on the table, leaving only a few specks of dust, and he leaned back into the couch.
The doorbell rang.
A wave of panic washed over Jack. Had Andrea found out? Goddammit, I should have stopped. I should have quit. This wasn't worth it at all. He took off his loafers, walking silently over to the door and looking through the peephole. Faye Ming-liang, wiping her nose with a tissue, stood in the hallway flanked by two Gurkha. Jack didn't know which was worse. He walked over to the kitchen, retrieving a silver knife from the cutlery drawer. Nobody's home, he thought. Nobody's home.
"Jack, we know you're in there," Faye's voice came muffled through the door. "We saw you go in."
Jack said nothing.
"I'm not here to arrest you, Jack. I just want to talk."
Jack tucked the knife into his dress pants. He opened the door.
Faye nodded. "May I come in?" Faye and the two Gurkhas entered. Faye looked around, surveying the condo. "Nice place. Could do with some furniture."
"How did you...?" Jack asked.
"The Peacekeepers are very thorough." Faye sat in one of the wing chairs, the Gurkhas flanking her on both sides. Jack didn't like the Gurkhas. He didn't like the way they showed no emotion. He didn't like how they couldn't be bribed.
"What do you want?"
Faye sighed. "I wanted to see if what I heard was true."
Jack pushed aside some of the throw pillows, sitting on the couch. "What have you heard, your majesty?"
"Your mother has dementia?"
Jack looked at the floor. He didn't say anything.
"I'm sorry to hear that," Faye said.
The emotion was seeping in, the cocaine could only hold it off for so long.
"I know that I tend to rule with an iron fist. It's caused some disagreements between us."
Faye's words faded in and out. There was a hospital bed on the other side of town where Jack's mother slept tonight.
"What if we could cure her dementia?"
Jack scowled. That wasn't possible. He'd talked to every doctor on the continent and tried every treatment that money could buy. His expression softened. It could be possible. Some secret government research that he wasn't privy to. "Y- you could do that?" Jack asked.
"In 3023? We may only be a couple years out from a cure. We could save her."
Jack was a businessman. He'd heard thousands of pitches, people telling him what he should do with his company and how he should spend his money.
"HR told me of a vision he had."
Jack knew when someone was pulling his heartstrings to get him on board with a project. When someone was manipulating him.
"He saw a future where all of the universe, all of the species, lived as one. No disease, no poverty, no strife." Faye leaned forward. "It all starts here, Jack. I want you on this Consortium— but I need your belief. We can cure the masses, together."
Jack had learned to avoid manipulation.
"The masses didn't earn it, Faye," Jack said. "I did. I earned it."
Faye pushed up her glasses. The lenses reflected the lights of the city. "I was... I was afraid you would say that."
The Gurkha next to Jack unsheathed his kukri, and in one smooth motion, sliced through Jack's neck. Jack's head fell to the floor. In his last moments, Jack's face was frozen in fear.
Episode 5
Faye thought of Jack Qu's trachea squeezing out bloody bubbles as he drew his last breath. Pumping oxygen to a head that was no longer there.
The truck's driver looked over. "We're here, your majesty."
Outside the windows, all was black as ink. A Gurkha opened the doors of the truck. An enamel pin was affixed to the shoulder of his uniform- a spoked wheel that glowed indigo in the glint of the moonlight. Faye, and several Gurkha, walked as a procession into a warehouse. Their footsteps echoed off of the walls.
I must bear the guilt. In time, Faye thought, the rewards shall be glorious.
---
Flashes of light and dark. The hum of a moving vehicle. Thebe had bouts of consciousness where the world was blurry and her breath built up in front of her face. The vehicle then lurched to a halt, and she was dragged across gravel onto smooth concrete. Something was covering her head. The sound of footsteps filled her ears and suddenly she was thrown onto the ground. The sack over her head was removed.
Four people encircled the center of the warehouse. Thebe recognized them. John. Sam. Carrie. Regina. CEOs from the Consortium- and now she was the fifth. Shadowy figures, soldiers, paced behind them, blinding them with flashlights affixed to the ends of their rifles. Thebe realized that her wrists and ankles were ziptied. Some of the CEOs were crying, some of them with their eyes wide in fear.
"What do you want?" Carrie pleaded.
"Quiet," one of the figures said.
They were drawn to the sound of footsteps- high heels clicking against the floor. From the darkness emerged a yellow blouse.
Faye Ming-liang stood in the center, staring the CEOs down one by one. Though nothing about her had changed, she was unrecognizable. She looked at Thebe like a lion looks at their prey. Faye paced around, shuffling some papers. She held one up, a spreadsheet printed out.
"What is this?"
The other CEOs began shaking.
"Anonymous donations to the Freedom Caucus?" Faye scoffed. "Trying to dig them out of the hole that they put themselves in?"
"It wasn't us, your majesty," Regina said.
"Well, I just don't believe that. I double checked. I triple checked. You wired this money to them under the table. A handsome amount too- it will last them until the next election, if they are smart." Faye stuffed the papers back into an envelope. "When I brought all of you into the Consortium, I explicitly asked for your allegiance. Your loyalty. I trusted you all to help me make Novenae a better place. You violated that trust, took advantage of it."
John leapt forward at Faye's feet. "We'll do whatever you want us to, your majesty. Please don't-" one of the soldiers behind him stepped forward and hit him across the temple, dragging him back into formation.
"It's too late for apologies. You are now against me, and I have quite enough enemies already."
"Wait. Wait," Thebe said, looking Faye in the eyes. "You know I didn't make those donations."
Faye looked down at her and nodded. "I am aware."
"I- I don't understand."
Faye looked behind her, at the soldiers. "Kill them. The quiet way."
One by one, curved blades cut across the necks of each CEO. Blood erupted from their throats. They fell to the floor. Faye turned back and kneeled to Thebe's level, the closest she'd ever been to the Governor-General. "You're very special. I need you to keep the others in line. They may not trust me, but they'll trust one of their own."
"W- why me?" Thebe asked.
"Because now you know how important this is."
Episode 6
They spent all of Calculus I stealing looks at each other. As one looked back, the other would look away. They played this game while the teacher droned on about integrals. They met again in the halls after class. Locking eyes, each stood still in a whirlwind of bookbags and letterman jackets. Hope sidled up first. A dark hoodie hung lazily over her skirt, the cords of earbuds trailing from her front pocket and disappearing up into her hair.
"You're Faye, right?"
Faye's outfit was plain and proper. The only trace of individuality was her right earring in the shape of a crescent moon.
"You've been on the dean's list for, like, the past two semesters."
"Four," Faye said. "Past four."
Hope smiled. "Right on." She got a little closer.
"What music are you listening to?" Faye asked.
"Cantopop. Want to listen with me?" She took out an earbud and reached close, nestling it into Faye's ear. The hair on Faye's neck stood upright.
"Is this Jimmy Wong?"
Hope nodded. "I'm loving his new album. Maybe there's somewhere quiet we can listen together..."
"I know a place."
“Let’s go.”
They walked together, brushing against each other lightly along the way. Jimmy Wong sang in their ears. They entered the theater, quiet and empty, and took a flight of stairs down to the area below the stage. It was cool and still. The only light came through cracks in the ceiling above, just enough to see.
Hope said, "I didn't even know this was here."
"I work backstage, in the theater program. This is where they store all the props."
Plastic boxes filled with fake swords and dresses and tophats were strewn about. Music stands which looked like thin, tuxedoed men standing against the walls.
"You ever act onstage?"
Faye hesitated. "No."
"Why not?"
They sat on the floor by a pillar. Shoulder to shoulder. Their backs touched the concrete. Hope's hoodie spilled over onto Faye's left arm, like a blanket.
"I have... scars." Faye's heart lurched. She chuckled nervously. "I don't want people to see them."
Hope's eyes were two full moons side by side in the dark as she looked over Faye. Her gaze picked apart the patches on her face. She came in close, closer, until Faye felt her breath and the heat of her body and the strands of Hope's hair touching her face.
"I have scars too."
Faye awoke. The warmth she felt on her lips was stolen from her.
She stirred under the covers, the dim outline of all her furniture around her. The sun hadn't even risen yet. Her phone buzzed on her nightstand and she picked it up.
"Your Majesty."
"Yes?"
"The Congress has asked you to appear at a private meeting in two hours. Furthermore, a journalist from the Evening Post wants to interview you about your health."
"Tell the Congress I'll be there. Don't answer the reporter yet."
"At once, Your Majesty."
Faye hung up and limped into the bathroom, where she looked in the mirror and saw a red splotch of skin traveling down her face. Since the news broke of her condition, the flare ups had gotten worse. One more thing she had to hide. Faye reached for her makeup, but hesitated. She went back to her nightstand and got her phone and dialed a number.
“Faye?” Behind HR’s voice was the sound of pots and pans clanging.
“Are you busy?” Faye asked.
“Just cooking breakfast for Naomi. I can talk.”
Faye sat down at her bedside. She fought the urge to curl up and go back to sleep. “My father used to tell me a story. Shakyamuni was on a boat with 500 passengers. Using his powers, he looked into his past life and saw that there was a thief, a murderer, on the boat. Someone who lived off of killing people and taking their belongings, and Shakyamuni saw in his vision that the thief would kill someone on this boat. He was faced with a dilemma. Let the thief kill someone, and allow that innocent passenger and their family to suffer- or kill the thief and ruin his enlightenment.”
HR said nothing.
“You know what he did?”
“He killed the thief,” HR said. “Out of compassion and love for the other passengers on the boat.”
“Then tell me why I shouldn’t lock the Freedom Caucus inside their headquarters and burn it to the ground.”
“Shakyamuni was reborn in hell for what he did. He suffered for eons.”
“I would choose rebirth in hell a thousand times over if it meant achieving a world without suffering.”
“That’s not quite what I meant. Are you prepared for what such an act might entail? The consequences will last far after you or I are dead.”
“I am.”
“I do not think that you are. You are too attached to our vision. So much so that it is consuming you, blinding you.”
Faye massaged her temples. “Maybe you’re not attached enough.”
“Your father and I saw the consequences of killing firsthand. It is not the end-all be-all solution you are envisioning. If there are nonviolent means to resolve a problem, I will exhaust all of them.”
“Did that work for the NCR?” Faye asked.
HR paused for a moment, which made Faye’s heart begin to race. “Shakyamuni made his decision carefully. I trust that you will too. But perhaps all this is a sign— perhaps your work turning the wheel is done.”
“...”
“Faye?”
She hung up. Faye looked out the window of her apartment, where the biosphere across the bay was sparkling against a brightening sky. This can’t be it. Hope’s words were a comfort, an embrace, a vision for the world Faye wanted to create.
“I have scars too.”
Laplace Arc
Episode 7
Two guards took the prisoner by each of his arms. Between them, and with the insignia emblazoned on the back of the two guards' uniforms, the prisoner looked like a cursor hovering between two repeated words:
`GENDARMERIE`
He was led to a van, where he sat jostling with several other armed men as the vehicle traversed the damaged streets of Belle Chasse. Craters in the sidewalk, from long-exploded mortars, still lingered. Buildings stood partially collapsed, some completely reduced to only concrete foundations standing guard, supporting walls and ceilings that no longer existed. The air was thick with the sound of construction vehicles and excavators, workers sifting through the rubble to salvage what they could. Through the reinforced windows of the van, the prisoner could see the galleries lining the buildings downtown. He himself had been here some months ago. Him and a friend had used one of these galleries as a sniper’s nest. They had killed many that day- and despite the fact that the war had been lost, the prisoner held no regret for what he did. His life had been over the moment he shot that soldier in Grand Coteau. Though maybe in the twilight of his life, he could find comfort in knowing he tried to avenge the friends he lost.
Emerging at the other end of the French Quarter, the van slowed to a stop outside of the Capitol building. The back doors opened, allowing the muggy Laplacian heat to spill into the vehicle.
“Ne tentez rien,” one of the guards told him.
They grabbed the prisoner, their nails digging into his arm. His orange jumpsuit was patted down and the prisoner was pushed through a metal detector. When the guards were satisfied he had no tricks up his sleeve, the prisoner was led into the Council chamber where the ceiling soared up into a gilded dome. A chandelier hung from the center which bathed the room in a warm glow. In the center of the room was a circular table where, flanked on all sides by military men and politicians, General Vincent Guilloux sat. All eyes were on the prisoner as he was led in. They stopped him at a stone’s throw from the General. The two peered at each other for a silent moment.
“Ils ont dit que tu avais quelque chose d'important à me dire,” The General said. “I want to hear it for myself. Would you like to sit down?”
The prisoner, still handcuffed, walked up to one of the chairs and obliged. Sitting in this chair was the most comfortable he’d felt in weeks— all he had in his cell was a toilet and a dingy cot.
“What’s your name?” The General asked.
“Mersault,” said the prisoner.
“And where are you from, Mersault?”
“I was born in Trou Dans Le Terre, but most of my childhood was in Grand Coteau.”
The General looked away, like he was looking out at the rippling waters of Lake Moreau. “Beautiful out there,” he said. “Even when it was a warzone. I was leading a campaign down there before I was called to Belle Chasse, to help take the capital. Maybe we saw each other?” The General smiled grimly.
“Maybe you were on the other end of my rifle,” said Mersault.
“Should have been faster on the trigger, then.”
The General’s words lingered. He was thinking of his father, who was born in Grand Coteau. At a younger age, maybe not unlike the prisoner before him. Yet here they stood.
“I was told that you saw foreign fighters in Laplace.”
“Saw them? I smoked with them. They gave us ammunition, rations, even helped fix our rifles.”
“I see.”
“They never fought, though. They’d always leave before it got too hot.”
“Did they say who they were?”
“They took great care to hide their identity,” said Mersault. “One night, I was taking a piss out in the woods. I heard them talking to each other as they were getting their boat ready to go and leave. They were speaking Chinese.”
The General raised an eyebrow. The politicians at the table around him looked at each other. “You’re sure?”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. I’m sure.”
“How do I know you’re not lying to me, Mersault? Four months ago, I would have leapt across this table to put a blade through your skull.”
“Near the end of the war, their help stopped coming. They abandoned us— let us starve.” The prisoner looked over. “I understand we’re on opposite sides of history. But, in this case, I think we can agree.”
The General scratched his chin. “Perhaps we can.”
Episode 8 - "All The Proof I Need"
